Mad Mage

by Salvador Mercer

  Dareen noted that the renegade wizard didn’t bother with calling the High-Mage an imposter or rebel or any other insult. He was all business, and he turned and exited the cell, trying to give the manacle key to Darker.

  “Get dat damn key away from me,” the warden said. “Gives it to the master.” He pointed at the doorway where Jakar stood watching silently.

  The old man shrugged and hobbled over to the wizard when Silis walked through the doorway and held out his hand. The dungeon servant placed the key in the Balarian’s palm and departed the room, glancing back one last time to look at Dareen. He smiled a wicked smile and winked again at her, and then disappeared down the hallway.

  Dareen felt the man was too smug with himself. She also had begun to welcome death if it meant she could leave her cell for one last time. Her greatest fear was dying in this very room, which she had almost done weeks earlier. She felt the bindings on her hand and didn’t notice anything special or dangerous about them. She had a hard time believing that she could wipe out an entire chamber in a flaming ball of fire if she struck her manacles together, but that was exactly what Alister instructed her to do.

  Most of the final details of her transfer were done quietly, and when all was ready, Jakar motioned for the warden to move her out. Dareen took the opportunity to speak to the wizard. “Where am I going?”

  Jakar eyed her suspiciously and said, “The High-Mage has plans for you. Your death will send a message to your fellow conspirators both here and in Ulatha.”

  She wasn’t exactly sure what he had in mind, and she didn’t know what he meant by fellow conspirators, but his words sounded as if her time had finally run out. The Kesh would not tolerate her or the killings further. “Remember me, then, wizard,” Dareen said, defiance building in her voice. “Remember when my sons come for you.”

  Jakar sighed and rolled his eyes. “I am quite sure no one is coming for you, and most certainly not to the High-Mage’s personal chambers. You can dispense with your empty threats and die honorably at the least for what you have done.”

  Darker refused to enter the cell and waved her out. Dareen scowled at the man, and despite her intense desire to comply and exit her confinement, she had a stronger desire to resist the Kesh. She shook her head and stood her ground, saying to the warden, “Come in here and get me.”

  “You stupid witch,” Darker yelled at her. “Get’z yourself out of dere and go with the master, now!”

  “No,” Dareen said, allowing a smile to cross her face at the man’s obvious discomfort.

  Darker glared at her with threatening eyes but did not move. He turned to look at Jakar with a pleading gaze and said, “Master, she won’ts come.”

  Jakar was equally wicked. “Then go in there and retrieve her.”

  “But, Master,” Darker implored of his superior. “The she-devil could killz me with her last breath.”

  Jakar said, “Then I guess I must properly motivate you, warden. Go in there and retrieve the prisoner or I will kill you with my next breath.”

  Darker nodded respectfully at the wizard and then glared again at Dareen as he pulled a small club from the back of his belt, brandishing it at her. He moved into the cell reluctantly and gave her as wide a berth as he could, all the while keeping his club between himself and her.

  Dareen returned the glare and stepped out of the cell through the gate, and swinging it shut as she did, she locked the dungeon warden in her cell. “Hey,” Darker complained, fishing out his key to open the door.

  “You look good in there,” Dareen said, waiting for him to open the door. “Perhaps your master can make it more permanent?”

  Darker ignored her and finally got the door open and held his club over his head as if to hit her, when he noticed the wizard and assassin watching him intently with disapproving looks. He lowered his club and said, “Get’z moving, witch.”

  The shackles jangled, feeling unnaturally heavy on her slender frame. She noticed the wizard had politely stepped aside to allow her to pass, but just barely. Silis also had moved into the hallway and taken up a strategic position nearby. She called over her shoulder at Darker, “Which way?”

  “Go left,” he ordered. Dareen turned right. “Not that’z way, you stupids witch.” He scurried after her and got in front of her to block her progress. The soldiers who had lined the wall didn’t move, and that was unusual in and of itself, or so Dareen thought.

  With great reluctance, Dareen turned about and marched back the way she was supposed to go, with Darker running again to get in front of her, passing her in fear that she would reach out and touch him. She walked past Jakar and Silis as they observed patiently, and four guards abruptly stepped in front of her and started marching. Obviously, she was supposed to follow them, and Darker appeared to get in their way. He finally leaned back against the wall and allowed them to pass as he brought up the rear, along with his superiors.

  Dareen was on her way to see the High-Mage and face her death.

  Chapter 21

  Unleashed

  “Are you ready?” Hork asked Bran as the sparring match was completed early for the day.

  “What’s going on?” Bran asked, watching as his opponents put their weapons up and headed for their barracks to clean up.

  Hork nodded toward the north. “The time for healing and training is over. You will be given three days’ rest, and then you will face the barbarian at sunset of the third day. Your duel will be to the death.”

  “Wonderful,” Bran said, looking at his own basin of water that he had used after each session to cleanse himself. “May I?” he asked the Kesh commander.

  “Go on,” Hork said simply.

  Bran walked over to the weapon stand and replaced his as he had done for many days in the past. He dropped his wooden and dented shield on the ground and then casually stepped over to the rickety table that held a large wooden bowl of water. He reached into it with both hands, and cupping them, he took the cool water and splashed it over his face. He did this three times before dumping the water over his head.

  He stood and shook his hands and then grabbed a towel and cleared his eyes and face, wiping along his hairline as he went. He was feeling better about the fact that his grey hair was almost gone and his natural color was returning. The change in hair color was a result of coming face to face with the Lich. He had feared the brown would never return despite what Malik had assured him in the days afterward.

  Once clean and somewhat dry, he set the towel back on the table and looked at Hork, who eyed him impassively. “Why three days? I would have thought the Northman would be ready to fight tonight.”

  “You obviously know little of the world outside of your petty realm,” Hork said, his tone hostile. “You should have spent more time in your studies or traveling abroad to other lands. You may have learned something had you done that.”

  “All right,” Bran said, trying to turn the tables on the smug Kesh commander. “What would I have learned about your realm had I traveled there years ago?”

  Hork snorted in derision, and then said, “You mock me.”

  “No,” Bran said, remaining firm with his question. “What would I have learned had I traveled to Kesh?”

  Hork eyed his Ulathan counterpart carefully before answering. “You would have learned your place in the greater world. Perhaps even come to understand what an imposter your ruler was sitting on someone else’s throne.”

  Bran nodded. “I’ve heard that one bandied about, and not only by you Kesh.”

  Hork raised an eye. “You jest.”

  “I do not,” Bran said, looking into the sky and noticing the cloud formations piling up far to the east near the mountains. The rains would fall soon and swell the rivers in the land for a time. Thinking of the Ulathan scout, Bran continued. “The traitor who worked for you thought much the same of our king.”

  “Then you realize that his rule was not sanctioned.”

  “Since when does a king need permission to rule
his own land?” Bran defended Korwell with his statement.

  “You know little of history as well,” Hork said. “The Kesh have always ruled the lesser realms until their rightful authority was stolen from them long ago. Now we only seek to right the wrong in this matter.”

  “Invading my country was righting a wrong?” Bran raised his voice and eyebrows at the declaration.

  “Most definitely,” Hork stated.

  “I think your own history was written by one of your magic-users,” Bran said. “They seem to have rewritten it to reflect their own shortcomings. Perhaps you are the one who doesn’t know or understand the truth in these matters.”

  Hork frowned. “I supposed next you’ll be telling me that the barbarian clans of the North are the remnants of an ancient and great civilization?”

  “I have no idea what history those Northmen have with regards to your realm or my realm. I only know that the one barbarian I’ve met has shown more honor than any Kesh has ever demonstrated in my own personal experience.”

  “Then you have not met and known many Kesh warriors,” Hork retorted.

  “Maybe not,” Bran admitted. “Still, you have not answered my question.”

  “Which was?” Hork asked, looking for clarification.

  “I asked,” Bran stated, speaking each word slowly for emphasis, “why three days? Why would the Northman want to wait for so long? Why not tonight?”

  “Perhaps you can ask him when he arrives,” Hork said, looking past Bran.

  Bran turned to see Kaz walking with at least a half dozen of his fellow clansmen. They were a fierce-looking group of men, all tall and muscular, with long dark hair and wild-looking, light-colored eyes. “What I could have done with only a few score of them,” he said softly.

  “What did you say?” Hork asked, not hearing the Ulathan well.

  “It’s not important,” Bran said, turning to look at the Kesh commander. “I was simply thinking what a fighting force I would have if I could use a few dozen of those Northmen.”

  “Aye,” the Kesh commander said in agreement. “The High-Mage has done well to enlist them in our campaign.”

  The men spoke no further and waited until the Northmen arrived. To Bran’s surprise, the wizard Hermes also came down from his tower at the same time and met them. Bran thought it couldn’t have been a coincidence. He looked at Hork one last time, who returned it with narrowed eyes.

  “Krik ho to ick na houn,” a large man walking next to Kaz said as the group arrived and stood in a semicircle facing them.

  Hermes spoke to the man. “Alk tu on nick krit houn tot kaheen.”

  The men nodded and then looked at Bran. “Akuk,” Kaz said.

  Hermes turned to face Bran. “Well, do not be rude, Ulathan. Come forward so they can inspect you better.”

  “What the hell for?” Bran said, not wanting to be inspected.

  “So they can see that you are not wounded, incapacitated, or ill,” Hermes explained. “It is part of their custom to ensure that the death match will be a fair and honorable one.”

  Bran stood his ground for a moment, hesitating. The Northmen stood with wide stances and steely eyes staring at him, but they were all patient. A look at Hork revealed much the same. The Kesh commander was watching intently yet kept his distance, and he never lost his composure. After a half minute, Bran stepped forward so that he was next to Hermes but still facing the Northmen. “Here I am.”

  Hermes ignored him and turned to the barbarians. “Ko tot ni hue, krik ahu.”

  “Krit ho nue,” the large one said, walking up to Bran, and then violently grabbing him by his wrists, he held his arms up and inspected Bran’s hands. He then dropped his own hands, but when Bran tried to lower his arms, the other man slapped them in an upward motion.

  Bran kept his arms up and out as if they were pointing at the Northmen. The large man walked around and then stopped behind him. Bran had to resist the urge to flinch. Since he couldn’t see the large barbarian, he was expecting a blow in much the same manner he had received from the Kesh before. Instead, the man gripped Bran’s ribcage and squeezed slightly. The pressure was felt, but Bran refused to show any discomfort or emotion at all.

  The man finally walked around the other side, coming into view, and then looked Bran up and down from head to toe. With a nod, he turned to his companions. “Akouk no hout.”

  The Northmen nodded in approval and then turned to leave, leaving Kaz alone for a short moment. Kaz also turned but faced Hermes this time and said, “Ak no hue, krik to.”

  “Understood,” Hermes said in the common tongue, and Bran breathed a sigh of relief as the barbarians from the North disappeared through the front castle gate.

  Bran leaned toward Hermes and said with too much familiarity, “What was that about?”

  Hermes forgot who was talking to him and leaned in as well. “The Northman either said no funny business, or he said business with you is not funny.”

  “What kind of translation is that?” Bran asked.

  Hermes was about to answer, when he looked back from the gate and stared at Bran for a moment, moving his staff in a circular motion out of habit. His jaw opened and then shut again, and then he spoke. “Why are you even questioning me? You will be dead in three days.”

  The wizard turned abruptly and stormed back to his tower. Bran looked around and noticed a dozen guards arriving as if on a silent cue from the Kesh commander. Hork waited patiently for them to arrive, and then, after he nodded to his soldiers, they motioned for Bran to return to his quarters.

  As he passed Hork, he barely heard the man say, “You better kill him or I’ll kill you myself.”

  Bran made no outward sign that he had even heard the threat, as it confused him greatly. What didn’t confuse him was that he didn’t think he could defeat the Northman. For once, he had a sinking feeling that the crazed and deceitful wizard holding him prisoner had finally spoken the truth. In three days, Bran Moross would die.

  The trip over the sea was uneventful but fast. The captain and his small crew knew their way around their own ship, as well as the vast ocean on which they traveled. In short order, they had docked at the rundown pier that represented the only naval port in Tallist. The city looked as if it had seen better days, with many major fortifications laid down in ruin centuries ago and never properly repaired. Half the city was abandoned, but the part that was occupied was fairly active despite the war that raged around the small fiefdom.

  Malik and Isolda took their leave of the captain and the Sea Runner’s crew and headed into town. There were no horses for hire or sale in the realm, and they would not have lasted once they reached their destination, as there were too many undead roaming the inner lands of this continent. They spent only a few hours in town securing provisions for their journey.

  They made camp late in the evening, well after the sun set and the twin sisters rose, and then they were up well before the break of dawn to resume their travel. They did this for three days and finally reached an area that Malik knew well. “We are within a half day of the swamp.”

  The land looked vast and forbidding, and they watched as heavy clouds passed by overhead on a westerly wind. “This is Ulatha?” Isolda asked.

  “No,” Malik said. “Ulatha is well north of here, but the dead mage is inside the swamp in his tower.”

  The pair had discussed their plans in great detail during their journey, so the specifics were known already. However, once they arrived, the layout was new to the Balarian, and she started to put things she saw in context with the information Malik had given her to date. “These dead creatures roam these lands?”

  “Yes,” Malik said. “We are very near to where I expect to see them, so I wanted to prepare the scepter the Akun cleric had given me.”

  “You still intend to go through with this, then?” she asked, as if he had a choice in the matter.

  “I do, but I have to admit I’m a bit nervous at using this rod of death thing he gave me. I�
�m not at all certain it will have any effect on those demons of death roaming the land for leagues in every direction.”

  “I guess we’ll find out soon enough once you use it,” she said, nodding at him in approval as he pulled it from his belt where it was tucked safely away while they traveled.

  The pair started out again, traveling in the dim light that filtered through the haze and fog of the land, which was only getting thicker and darker the more they penetrated the land. The dim light gave them an eerie feeling as they journeyed deeper toward the marshes, and when the ground started to get soft and moist, they heard the faint groaning sounds of what appeared to be people in pain and suffering.

  “I think I hear them,” Isolda said, cocking her head and crouching to the ground, placing one hand there.

  Malik mimicked her actions and nodded. “There should be more than one. They usually travel in groups, not alone.”

  “Are you ready?” she asked, slowly pulling her sword and motioning with her head toward the northwest where the sounds seemed to be located and growing in volume.

  He nodded and resisted the urge to take his bow off his back. He had strung it the day before and had a full quiver of arrows to draw from, but this time, he also drew his blade and held the scepter in his other hand. “Let’s go to them.”

  Isolda raised her brows but understood the logic. The Ulathan didn’t want to find out later if the death rod would work. He actively wanted to test it, and she wholeheartedly agreed. “Let’s find them.”

  It didn’t take long, as they heard the soft squishing of the ground under the feet of the undead approaching them, as well as their own steps. “Here they come,” Malik said, holding his ground and raising the scepter in his left hand in front of him.

  “Shouldn’t it glow or something?” she asked. “It had that odd glow about it back at the Akun temple.”